


you're an open book but i can't read you

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Communication, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Yeah, you should come, Bri, it’ll be lots of fun, is what Jonah had said to him before they left their apartment.Meet the music majors, I know they don’t get out of the music building much but they’re really cool, you’ll see.Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure. He’d let Jonah wheedle him into coming to this dumb party, where he doesn’t know anyone, where everyone is in their weird music major cliques. Brian is a musician, for crying out loud, but he doesn’t play seventeen instruments and doesn’t know which music history professor is the one everyone references with dread and doesn’t really give a shit about the drama of who gets into which ensemble on account ofhe doesn’t fucking know anyone.





	you're an open book but i can't read you

**Author's Note:**

> title from [make out by julia nunes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEo3m8eHl3k) because that came out when i was in college and my roommates and i would sing it at each other constantly ??? dorks, all of us
> 
> trying on some brian pov, just for fun!

_Yeah, you should come, Bri, it’ll be lots of fun_ , is what Jonah had said to him before they left their apartment. _Meet the music majors, I know they don’t get out of the music building much but they’re really cool, you’ll see._

Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure. He’d let Jonah wheedle him into coming to this dumb party, where he doesn’t know anyone, where everyone is in their weird music major cliques. Brian is a musician, for crying out loud, but he doesn’t play seventeen instruments and doesn’t know which music history professor is the one everyone references with dread and doesn’t really give a shit about the drama of who gets into which ensemble on account of _he doesn’t fucking know anyone_ — so despite being able to hold his own in a conversation about music, he doesn’t even get the chance to.

Because Jonah has disappeared, Brian is by himself. Usually he can flit around and find someone to talk to but the circles of conversation are _tight_ and people give him weird looks when he tries to slip in. He hasn’t seen Jonah since five minutes after they got here. He wonders if he met up with that cellist he’s been talking about for the past month and a half.

Well. Good for him. Sucks for Brian, though. He’s sulking by himself and he’s not even drinking, on account of there’s a group of loud obnoxious dudes in the way. He sighs. Maybe he should just write this one off, just go home and play _Warframe_ until he can’t stay awake any longer.

He’s just pulling out his phone to text Jonah as much when someone behind him says, “Hey.”

Brian turns, startled, and then breaks into a smile. “Hey! Patrick, right?”

“Yeah. Pat’s fine, though. I thought it was you, I didn’t know you were in music?”

“I’m not. I mean, well, I am, but not here. My roommate dragged me along.” Brian grimaces. “He disappeared a half hour ago, I’m starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again.”

Pat’s mouth quirks up in a little smile, and then it’s gone again. “Fair enough. I’m in the same boat. Everyone’s real unfriendly, huh?”

“They really are. Like, jeez Louise, it’s not even that exclusive of a program, what is everyone’s deal?”

“Shh, don’t let them hear you say that, the orchestra will come play out of tune in your dorm room at six AM,” Pat hisses at him, leaning in closer so Brian will hear, and Brian laughs and grins up at him.

Huh. Maybe not such a loss, after all.

“I think we should form our own clique, see how they like it,” Brian says.

“Yes, absolutely. The prestigious and exclusive group of idiots who signed up to be in a speech class at eight o’clock in the goddamn morning.”

“Saying you’re in that class is generous, Pat Gill. I would hardly even call you awake. You’re certainly not present.”

“Oh, you do know my whole name,” Pat says, surprised, and Brian is about to stutter out some sort of apology for if that’s weird, for him to know his classmate’s last name, even though they’re right next to each other in attendance because the asshole professor takes _attendance_ for an _8AM gen ed class_ so of course Brian’s noticed, but Pat’s surprise fades rapidly into embarrassment as he adds, “That sure makes me feel like a shithead for not being able to remember even your first name at all. I’m sorry. I’m good at faces and garbage at names.”

“No, you’re fine! Don’t worry about it, really. It’s Brian David Gilbert.”

“Shit, now I’ve gotta keep track of your middle name, too?” He’s smiling a little, though.

“It’s first names all the way down, baby,” Brian says, and he doesn’t _mean_ for it to sound as flirty as it does, not _really_ , he tosses out a casual joking “baby” all the time, but Pat’s gaze sharpens and Brian can’t tell if he’s really stepped in it already or if, maybe, possibly, perhaps, he’s looking at him with interest.

“That’s a lot of name for just one dude,” Pat says.

“I try to live up to it,” Brian says, with a dramatic sigh and a hand to his forehead, and he gets that flash of a smile _again,_ so quick. He’s never seen Pat smile before, and here he is giving it up for him freely. To be fair, he’s hardly seen Pat fully conscious before, except on the days where he’s actually had to give a speech and he’s jittery-caffeinated and jittery-anxious and, Brian would bet, running on hardly any sleep.

Not that he pays attention.

Uh.

Well.

Maybe a little.

It’s not his fault that Pat slouches into class, all bony angles and long dark hair and scruffy stubble, with that funny white patch towards the right of his chin, like he’s got a scar under there and his hair grew back the wrong color. It’s damn charming, and the Pat in front of him has clearly not shaved in several days and his stubble probably would be more soft than scratchy if Brian were to touch it, if he were to — 

He is not going to think about kissing him, nope!

“I don’t think I’m ever going to find my roommate again,” Pat grumbles. “Pain in the ass knows everyone, I’ve seen her five times talking to five different groups of people and she never even gave me half a look. So rude.” There’s fondness in his tone, though.

“Would I know her, do you think?”

“Fuck, probably. Simone de Rochefort?”

“Oh, yep! She’s in my cognitive neuroscience class. Or was. I think she might’ve dropped it, I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Your _what_ class.”

“Cognitive neuroscience?” Brian repeats, sheepishly.

“I thought you were a writing major? I swear to god you said you were a writing major at some point.”

“Oh, I’m doubling. Cognitive science and creative writing.”

“Jesus _Christ._ You’re a morning person and a fuckin’ smartypants to boot, huh?”

“I’d hardly call myself a morning person. Unless it was in comparison to you, in which case I think anyone wins.”

“Whatever. Look, it’s loud as hell in here, and everyone’s shitty, and I bet neither of us are getting our roommates back before ass o’clock, y’wanna just ditch this and find something better to do?”

Brian blinks at him. “Like…?”

Pat stares him down, with those dark brown eyes, takes a half-step closer and allows his gaze to drop to Brian’s lips — so quickly Brian almost might have imagined it — and then back to meet Brian’s eyes again. “I can think of a few things,” he says, his voice low and soft. Brian licks his lips and then hates himself for it, he didn’t even mean to, how fucking obvious can he be?

“Yeah, okay,” says Brian, leaning into Pat’s space, just a little more. “Lead the way, Pat Gill.”

 

There’s a 7-11 between their current location and Brian’s apartment, whereas Pat’s is a solid half-mile away in the opposite direction with nothing but more apartments between. So that’s an easy enough decision. Pat doesn’t take his hand or anything, not even once they’re well away from anyone they might know, and Brian’s starting to doubt himself. Maybe he read him wrong? It seemed — that was a pretty straightforward thing to say —

But it’s fine, he doesn’t mind. He’s fine just hanging out with this unfairly fucking attractive guy from his godawful speech class, it’s totally cool. He seems nice enough. Maybe they’ll play _Smash_ instead of smashing. That’d be alright, too. He can’t expect every guy he’s into to be queer.

Pat makes a beeline for the slurpee machines and, as Brian watches, makes some unholy combination of the flavors they have available — _awful_ — and nonchalantly sticks a straw in it, raises his eyebrows at Brian as he sips it like he’s daring him to say anything.

Brian does not say anything. Brian is eyeing the chocolate ice cream cones in the freezer because they are his absolute favorite and they even have the ones with oreos on them but he can’t decide if it’s worth the risk of licking at a scoop of ice cream in front of a guy that may actually have no interest in him whatsoever and he really doesn’t want to inadvertently lean into unwelcome innuendo if that’s the case. So he copies Pat, except less _awful,_ just combining cherry and Coke like a reasonable human being.

“Boring,” says Pat, as they go to pay, and then Pat beats him to the counter and buys Brian’s drink too and now Brian really can’t tell what’s going on.

“You have Mountain Dew and blue raspberry in the same cup, I don’t think you have any right to have an opinion on my choice of flavors on account of you probably don’t have taste buds,” Brian says, as they walk outside and leave the buzzing fluorescent lights behind. Someone is smoking two feet from the door and Brian fucking _hates_ that, but covers his scowl by chewing on his straw.

“No, it’s, like, good. You don’t taste the individual stuff, it’s just sweet.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Your loss,” Pat says, shrugging mildly. He glances around. “Man, I haven’t been out this way since freshman year. Dated a guy who lived in, what’s it called, Lake View or what the fuck ever? There’s not even a goddamn lake. His roommates were _assholes,_ but it was more private than the dorms, so, y’know.” A little smirk, for punctuation.

Okay. Okay, he definitely — he must not have been imagining — unless he’s not angling for a hookup, just a friend, just taking pity on Brian —

“Wait, what year are you in now?”

“Oh, I’m a junior. Uh. You’re not a freshman, are you?”

“No. Second year. Technically, credits-wise, I’m closer to a junior?”

“Ah, those AP credits, they’ll get ya. Make you sound real confusing and pretentious every time you try to explain how close you are to graduating.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Brian huffs, and Pat just laughs.

“I should’ve figured, freshmen can’t live off-campus anyway.”

“I’ve got a baby face or whatever. People tell me all the time.”

“Just grow a beard,” Pat says, helpfully. Sure, right, coming from this guy who, like, actually looks good with facial hair.

“That would work if it wasn’t patchy and terrible. I think it would just make it worse.”

Pat laughs. “Well, damn, guess you’re stuck with it, then. Can’t help those big ol’ puppy-dog eyes of yours, huh?”

Brian recovers from his half-second of surprised fluster at that quite admirably, _thank you very much._ He flutters his eyelashes at Pat, which keeps him smiling. He seems less tense, out in the night air. It’s early March, one of the first days warm enough to not really need a jacket — okay, Brian’s kind of chilly, but he wouldn’t _admit_ it — and it’s a Thursday night, so everyone without Friday classes is out having fun but the streets are all but deserted.

They lapse into silence, but it’s amicable. Brian keeps his drink in his left hand, keeps his right hand carefully at his side, perfect for Pat to take if he wants to except he won’t, ‘cause he’s cradling his frozen abomination in both hands and going to give himself frostbite.

Brian certainly doesn’t watch him out of the corner of his eye, certainly not trying to take in Pat’s lips and tongue and teeth as he toys with the straw _way too fucking much, okay,_ and his dark hair keeps blowing across his face and he keeps futilely tucking it back behind his ear, and okay fine alright he just likes looking at him but can anyone _blame_ him, Pat is so fucking _pretty_ it’s not fair.

They get to Brian’s building and Brian hums to himself as he punches the code in, whatever tune’s floating through his head — oh god it’s that one song from _A Goofy Movie,_ if Pat knows it that would probably be embarrassing, wouldn’t it, except it’s a good goddamn song so he stands by his subconscious’s choice of tunes.

He unlocks the door and lets Pat in and says, “Welcome to my humble — _augh, fuck, Zuko!”_ He grabs his cat by the scruff of the neck just before he bolts out the door and drags him back, closes the door with his shoulder. “Why do you only ever try to escape when it’s me coming in the door, you terrible thing!”

Zuko just blinks at him, and then darts off further into the apartment.

“Got an escape artist on your hands?” Pat says, dryly amused.

“He just likes to be where he’s not supposed to be.” Brian shakes his head fondly and straightens up, finding himself closer to Pat than he’d expected. “Oh,” he says, instead of anything sensible or smart or coherent.

“Can I kiss you?” says Pat, and Brian just stares at him before nodding frantically, and then Pat is setting his cup down on the counter and reaching for Brian. He takes Brian’s face in his hands, his thumbs on Brian’s cheekbones, his fingers caressing over his jaw, and his lips are cold where they touch Brian’s. Brian puts his arms around Pat’s waist and holds him tight.

He tastes syrupy-sweet and his tongue is cold too, but not for awfully long. His hands are steady, and even though he’s so skinny he might as well be two-dimensional he’s solid, doesn’t even reel backwards at all when Brian really goes for it, when he realizes Pat isn’t just humoring him. He just shifts his grip on Brian and holds him right where he wants him.

Pat runs his fingers through Brian’s hair when they pause to catch their breath. He looks — downright _fond,_ like he’s genuinely happy to be here, like maybe he’s even thought about it before.

“God, you’re hot,” Pat says softly, almost a whisper. “Who gave you the right to look at me like that, good lord.”

“Who gave _you_ the right, jeez, Pat, you’re fucking gorgeous —“

“I want to fuck you,” Pat says, plainly, and Brian chokes on his words. “Just putting that out there. If you’re not down, that’s totally fine, we can do whatever else you want. But. If you want to.”

 _“Yes,”_ Brian breathes. He grabs Pat by the hand and hauls him off through the kitchen; Pat is laughing now.

“Eager, huh?”

“No offense, Pat, but I’ve been daydreaming about your stupid pretty face — stupid pretty _everything_ — since, like, the second week of the semester.”

“Oh. Shit. Really?”

Brian just gives him a little shy, nervous smile as they walk into his bedroom, a little nod.

“Damn, never thought I’d wish I’d been less dead in an 8AM gen ed. I mean — I, um. I liked your presentations, when I was awake enough to process them, I just — felt real bad I never caught your name, and it seemed too late to ask, which was a damn shame because you’re fucking cute as hell but now — what’s up, Brian David Gilbert, it’s Pat Gill with the second chance. How d’you want to do this?”

“Oh, boy. What do you like? I’ve got, well, I’ve got sort of a laundry list of ideas.”

“Oh, I _see.”_ Pat grins at him; his look is almost hungry. “Let me think. I could fuck you, but you’d have to do the prep, probably, I don’t love doing that part. I mean, I’d like to, don’t get me wrong, I’m just the kind of fucker who’s gotta get gloves and I doubt you have those on hand. Hah. Didn’t mean that as a pun. Also I’m allergic to latex. Sorry, I’m a bit high-maintenance in bed.”

“Don’t even worry about it, I’m glad you’re telling me. It’s important. Good stuff to know.”

“Thanks. And, uh, if you’re not wanting to go to all that trouble, I’m certainly down for a handjob or blowjob or, hell, just making out and grinding, whatever you like. I’m flexible. Well. Metaphorically.”

Brian snickers.

“What, you talented in that department too?”

“You could say that.” He winks.

“Oh, I am in for it, aren’t I?”

Brian just kisses him, in response, just because he _can,_ and they are thoroughly distracted by that for several long moments before they can continue their conversation.

Pat clears his throat. “So, uh, yeah. What’re your thoughts?”

“Right now, I’m thinking I want you in my bed, and then we can see where it goes from there. I love _all_ those ideas. If you’re cool with it, I’m fine with going where it naturally progresses.”

“Yeah, absolutely. That sounds — that sounds really good.”

So Brian hops up onto his bed and sprawls out against his pillows, and Pat climbs up after him, gets on all fours over him.

“Hey,” says Pat. His hair is falling around his face and his eyes are so dark and he is so fucking lovely.

“Hey, yourself,” Brian says, and then grabs Pat by the collar of his t-shirt and drags him down to kiss him. Pat makes a little surprised noise, but then apparently digs it because he kisses back fervently, lets Brian bite at his lips and returns in kind, an unspoken back-and-forth where neither of them is victorious but both of them are winners.

Pat’s lips are a little chapped, a little sticky from his stupid drink, but it doesn’t bother Brian at all. He likes to take note of the sensations, likes it even more when Pat pushes a hand up Brian’s shirt to unabashedly feel him up. Brian’s always been athletic in some sense of the word, but he doesn’t work hard at it and he might be flexible but he’s not got sculpted muscles or anything. A layer of softness protects his abs and pecs from being defined. This has never bothered him, he’s gangly and thin regardless, but even if that wasn’t the case he doesn’t think that would change because, fuck, why wouldn’t he appreciate himself, or anyone else for that matter, however they’re built?

And Pat seems appreciative, too; he grabs at Brian’s hips and drags his hands up his belly and palms at his chest and it feels _good._ He sits back and helps Brain pull his shirt off, then takes off his own and then drops back down against Brian and then it feels even better than all that.

Pat’s fucking _sharp,_ bony and all edges and hard angles, but there’s something delicate there too: his cheekbones and his wrists and the knobs of his spine, the hollows of his collarbone, the little twinge of nervousness that flits across his face when Brian looks him over.

“Gorgeous,” Brian murmurs, and kisses him again.

They’re pressed close together from the chest down, and something about the feeling of skin on skin seems to make Pat go gentle. He slows his roll a little, runs his hands through Brian’s hair and gets an awful lot less bitey, in favor of something more explorative, even tender. And that’s unexpected but nice. Really nice. He traces his fingers along Pat’s back and he feels him shiver at the touch.

“You ‘kay?” Brian says against his lips.

“Yeah. Feels good,” Pat says.

“Good.”

Brian thinks he’d be happy just doing this all night, especially when Pat kisses his slow way across Brian’s jaw, his neck, soft hot presses of his mouth. Oh, it is good. When Brian chances a look at him, his eyes are closed and his face is focused and it’s so very sweet. And then Pat’s eyes flutter open, like he’s sensed Brian looking at him, and Brian’s face goes hot. But Pat just winks and grazes his teeth lightly across the side of Brian’s neck and Brian draws a sharp breath.

He gets Pat by the belt loops and rocks his hips up against him and is rewarded by Pat’s eyes fluttering shut again as he gasps.

“Yeah, fuck, okay,” Pat says, and shifts so he’s better positioned over Brian, gets his hand back in Brian’s hair and kisses him hard, lets Brian grab his ass and drag him down against him. That’s _really_ nice, because Pat’s already hard (and, admittedly, so is Brian), and he hasn’t gotten any part of himself near anyone else’s cock in what feels like _ages._ It’s easy to work themselves into a rhythm, between Brian’s practiced smooth movements and Pat’s eagerness.

“Fucking — _fuck,_ how the hell do you do that with your hips?” Pat grits out.

“What, babe, this?” Brian says, arching his back and rolling his hips and pulling Pat in hard to get friction on both their cocks, and Pat gives a choked sort of moan.

“Christ, who gave you the right — _fuck,”_ Pat swears, as Brian drops his hand between them and cups Pat through his jeans. “God, Brian, holy shit, I want — god, I don’t even know what I want, I just want _you_ —”

“Well, you’ve got me. You should fuck me,” Brian says, and even just the _words_ make Pat’s hips jerk down towards Brian’s again. Brian drags his palm across Pat’s crotch and he flat-out _moans._ “I’ll — you stay right here, you want to watch me get ready?”

“Yes,” Pat says, emphatically, and Brian grins. He slides out from under Pat, a bit regretfully — more regretful still when Pat cautiously folds himself up into a sitting position and grips his own thighs like he’s trying not to touch himself — and goes for the drawer at the side of his bed, fumbles around for the lube, seeing if he’s got condoms. He’s got to have latex-free ones, right? Surely he’s snagged at least one from somewhere, there’s like five different places on campus that have bowls of them for free. Shit, it’s so dim in this room, why didn’t he turn on the light?

“This work for you?” he says, and flings a little square packet at Pat with a frisbee motion. It bounces off Pat’s chest and lands among the blankets and Pat has to feel around for it. Pat squints at it, flips it over, squints at it some more.

“Tiny fuckin’ writing. Yes, thank you.”

“Hell yeah. Hang on to that, okay? You just get to watch for a bit. You can take off your pants, if you want, you know.”

Pat blinks as though this hadn’t even occurred to him. Brian takes the opportunity to shimmy out of his own jeans and underwear, both at once because he is impatient. When he glances over at Pat, Pat’s mouth is literally hanging open a little bit, which is the most flattering thing that has maybe ever happened to Brian, actually.

“Earth to Patrick,” Brian says lightly, and Pat blinks.

“Sorry. I, uh. God.”

“Been a minute since you last got laid, huh?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Pat says, a little sheepishly. “Also, you’re hot, okay, it bears repeating.”

“I’m flattered,” says Brian, and means it, despite his facetious tone. “Take off your pants, dude. Unless you’re not cool with that in which case absolutely leave them on.”

“Did you just call me dude?” Pat says, incredulous, already wriggling around to peel himself out of those impossibly tight black skinny jeans.

“Look, I don’t claim to do things like ‘premeditate what I say before I say it,’” Brian says, making air quotes, and Pat laughs. “Where d’you want me?”

“Oh. Uh. Wherever you’re comfy?”

Gosh, he wasn’t expecting Pat to be so _shy._ It’s cute. It makes Pat blush all the way down to his chest when Brian settles in front of him and prepares to put on a goddamn show.

It’s a little embarrassing how fast he feels himself unraveling under his own hands, but he rolls with it — he can be pretty about it and make it seem like he’s putting it on a little for Pat, because he would be anyway under any circumstances. Pat is fucking _enraptured,_ looking at Brian with intent dark eyes, watching him like he doesn’t want to so much as blink and miss anything.

He’s as quick as he can be about it, because he really really wants to get to the next part, and then Pat shoos him off to go wash his hands and he all but runs to the bathroom and back.

He is rewarded, the moment he gets back onto the bed, with Pat suddenly colliding with him full-force. He kisses him hungrily, like all he’s ever wanted is to get his mouth against Brian’s. It wrenches a moan from Brian as Pat pushes him down onto the bed, a little roughly but Brian _likes_ that.

“Please can I fuck you,” Pat gasps, his mouth just inches away from Brian’s ear, so close he can feel his hot breath against it. “I got myself ready while you were gone, please —“

“Yes, oh my _god_ and hurry up about it —“

He’d laugh at his own impatience if Pat didn’t immediately take the opportunity to get Brian by his thighs and move him right where he wants him. Instead he makes a surprised sort of squeak that breaks off abruptly into a whine as Pat lines himself up and presses against him.

“Alright, alright, chill, I’m not gonna rush this,” Pat says, and Brian fists his hands in the bedsheets and tries really, really hard not to thrust his hips up to hurry him along.

Pat’s expression is so open, now: instead of the determinedly neutral line of his mouth, his lips are parted slightly as he breathes just this side of ragged. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows are drawn not in worry but in something in the realm of gratitude, of disbelief, of joy.

Fuck, he is _gorgeous,_ and it takes Brian’s breath away just to see him.

At some point in all this Brian’s hands have let go of the bedding and he’s been clutching at Pat instead, and he’s afraid he might have clawed at his back a little but Pat doesn’t seem to mind, especially when he finally starts goddamn _moving_ and Brian says _Pat oh my god Patrick_ and Pat drops his head down to press a kiss to Brian’s shoulder, so fucking tenderly.

He loves this he loves this so fucking _much._ He grabs Pat by those narrow hips as he thrusts into him in earnest, both of them breathing hard. Pat’s face is flushed and he makes terribly endearing quiet sounds of effort as he really gets into it. He gets a hand in Brian’s hair and Brian tells him that he can pull it if he wants and Pat yanks his head back and gets his mouth on Brian’s neck and Brian keens at him, gasping out _yes yes yes yes_ as he bites him, as he tongues at his skin, and oh he _hopes_ it’ll bruise. He wants to look at himself tomorrow and press his fingers where Pat’s mouth has been and be reminded of this exact moment.

Brian talks a lot during sex, he always has, but his mouth is never quite connected to his brain. He’s bossy, he knows it, but it’s always better when he can say _fuck yes just like that that’s perfect_ or _move up just a little oh good yeah yes like that exactly_ or _oh my lord just bite me will you_ or _jesus christ Patrick I’m going to die if you don’t get your hand on my dick right now._ And how else is he going to get across how good it feels if he’s not closing his teeth around desperate chants of _yes yes yes please yes_ —

Pat, on the other hand, is so fucking focused. He’s quiet but attentive. Well. That is to say, not so verbal. But he makes so many and such varied sounds of pleasure: he moans louder than Brian even, when Brian does something right, like grab his ass or pull at the hair at the nape of his neck or if his voice breaks when he’s begging _please please please_ —

Brian can feel his climax coming from a mile away, with Pat deep inside him with his mouth on his skin with his hand on his cock, and he knows Pat’s close too because he’s pounding into him so hard and desperate and out of rhythm now and he’s gasping and he bites down hard on Brian’s shoulder and Brian cries out as Pat’s hand tightens on him and his back arches up off the bed and then he’s gone that’s it he’s done for as he tenses all over and clings to Pat as hot bright brilliant _good_ floods through his nervous system.

 

They hold each other so tight, after. Who cares if they’re sweaty and sticky and gross? Brian’s heart is still racing and he can feel Pat’s pulse where his cheek is pressed up against his neck and it’s fast, too, and his chest heaves as he catches his breath.

He’s never, not ever, thought anyone was more beautiful.

He doesn’t want to let go because he doesn’t want him to _leave._ He doesn’t want him to get up and clean himself up and then fuck off and ignore Brian in class for the rest of the semester. He wants to keep holding him and listen to his heartbeat and maybe fall asleep like this, together.

“Brian,” Pat mumbles into Brian’s hair. Well, fuck. That’s it, then. “I don’t wanna move but I really, really would like to not have your jizz all over my stomach and I feel like you might benefit from that as well.”

“I guess,” says Brian, who means for it to come out as teasing but instead it just sounds nervous.

“I — um. I’m not planning to go anywhere. If you don’t want me to. I mean. I’ll go if you want —“

“Please stay,” Brian whispers, and he can _feel_ the tension leave Pat as he slumps, relieved, against him. He kisses the top of Brian’s head.

“Okay,” Pat whispers back. “Let’s clean up, alright? Then we can cuddle?”

“I do so love a cuddle, Pat Gill,” Brian says, and Pat laughs.

 

Brian curls into Pat’s arms, when they get back in bed. They’re both still nude beneath the blanket; Brian suspects that this will account for some interesting shenanigans in the morning. At least, he hopes it will.

He wants to talk, to keep talking, to learn more about him and make him laugh, see that flash of a smile again, but as soon as his head hits the pillow he realizes he’s exhausted. Pat’s arm is slung around Brian’s waist and he sighs contentedly when Brian snuggles up close.

“Will you still be here in the morning?” Brian says.

“If you’ll have me,” Pat says. 

“Oh, Pat,” Brian sighs, happily. “I’ll keep you, so long as you want to stick around.”

“Well, you better get used to me, then,” Pat says. Even though Brian can’t see his face, he can hear the smile in his voice. 

Brian tilts his head up to kiss him good night. They linger in it, distracted, but are both entirely too sleepy to keep it up for long.

Brian falls asleep tucked close against Pat, with Pat’s thumb gently strumming across his spine, between his shoulderblades, to the gentle rhythm of his chest rising and falling with his breath.

 

Yeah.

He could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> i have never actually had an icee with all the flavors mixed together and i never will. fictional pat gill is a menace to society   
> additionally: i HAVE had an 8am gen ed speech class where the professor took attendance, as wild as that seems. we're out there suffering
> 
> comments and kudos make the dream work
> 
> i continue, as always, to be a gremlin on twitter @segmentcalled!


End file.
